Flashes in the Pan
by Nerdyesque
Summary: LoVe from different angles.
1. Checker, Chess, and Poker

**A/N: This came to me while I was watching the poker game episode of VM - I always wondered what would happen if it were just Logan and Veronica. I may still use part of this in my AU LoVe story (you'll notice Lily is still alive in this version while in the show she was long dead), but for now it's just brainstorming (it's a quick and dirty - no pun intended - scene so don't expect resolution). The title came from an old joke: What three games do men like? Checker, Chess, and Poker (say it out loud and really fast)**

* * *

><p><span>Outtakes<span>

"We started a game we never got to finish. "Play to Strip," remember?"

"I was kidding."

"I wasn't."

Veronica looked up at Logan through her light eyelashes. "You wouldn't take advantage of a poor defenseless girl, would you?"

"Of course not! Fortunately I'm playing you."

##

Logan glared at the openly triumphant Veronica, the air conditioning cold against his bare chest. He was down to one sock and his boxers while the card shark had everything on but her sweatshirt.

"Two more hands and then I get to see what the fuss is all about," she smirked.

Lounging back in his chair with hands behind his head, he preened. "I knew you were doing this just to see me naked. You could've just asked. I woulda dropped trou for you, Babycakes."

"Babycakes? Really?"

"Sugarbritches? Dollface? I know! Pixie."

"Call me Pixie and I promise you it won't be cold air shriveling your balls."

"You think you're so tough, but really you're a marshmallow inside."

"Now that's something you'll never know, will you?"

Unaccountably nervous – strange really since he lost his V-card at fourteen – he leaned towards the green felt table and proposed a new deal. "Ok make this the last hand, all in. Whoever wins takes off everything."

Her cat-soul measured him in a level flat stare as she considered his offer. Sparks of excitement skittered across his skin, leaving behind goose bumps he could excuse as reaction to cold air, even if deep inside he knew it was because he was the focus of Veronica's complete attention.

"Okay." Her nod looked a bit hesitant, but Logan didn't hold back the gleeful smirk. He'd been just stringing her along, letting her get comfortable so he could win it all in one fell swoop.

"Excellent, let me deal," said the 09er spider to the 02er fly.

##

Logan laid down the three Jacks and two tens with a flourish.

"Full House!"

Veronica's face fell. "Oh God, I only have two pair. I honestly thought I had figured out all your tells."

"Actor's kid, remember? How many times do I have to remind you? Show 'em." Then show me everything you've got underneath, Sweetcheeks.

She turned over two nines and slowly flipped over the other two cards: two nines. Fucking four of a kind.

"Bitch."

"Actor's kid, perhaps, but actor you are not. Me, on the other hand, much better at bluffing." She rotated her index finger. "Give me your Lucky Charms boxers and the other sock."

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, as comfortable naked as clothed. With any other girl he would take his time and tease her with slow glimpses, but he just wanted to get this over like ripping off a band aid. He stood up and dropped his underwear to his ankles stepping out of the cloth as he peeled the sock off too.

"Satisfied?"

"Not yet." The throaty pulse of her voice stroked him and his cock stirred in interest.

"God, Veronica I didn't think you could actually pull it off. I owe you hundred bucks."

His ex-girlfriend's voice was a splash of cold water across Logan's senses and he spun around to see Lily, Dick, Duncan, Meg, and Casey standing in the open door of the pool house.

"Actually if I remember the terms of the bet, all of you owe me a hundred bucks," Veronica gloated, stretching before pushing away from the table. She sauntered over to where the other 09ers were standing, hand out.

"Dude, I totally thought you had her with the last hand."

"Duncan, please tell me when he's dressed so I can look at him again."

"Geesh, Meg, it's not like you've never seen a boy naked before." A quick glance at the blushing girl coupled with Duncan's distinctly uncomfortable look told its own story. "Ohmigod, you haven't seen a naked boy before!"

"Lily, leave Meg alone. Logan put your clothes on. I got what I came for."

Logan hadn't moved from where he stood exposed before his friends and Veronica, the girl who had yet to look at his body despite apparently wagering she could get him to strip. Anger and a sense of impish vengeance moved his feet until he was behind her, then she was spinning around into his arms and he plunged his tongue into her surprised mouth.

He refused to be this crazy over a girl and be ignored like this; who the fuck did she think she was, to make him think of her until all he could see was her in every girl he talked to, touched, or tried to kiss? Veronica was so tiny he was able to easily pick her up and carry her over to the couch, their lips never parting for an instant. Her legs were clamped so tightly around his naked waist he couldn't untangle himself from her, so he made sure when they fell backwards, she was on top.

##

"Uh, do you think they realize we're still here?"

"Does it fucking look like it?" Lily was staring at the embracing couple with an unreadable look on her pretty face.

Dick danced nervously in place, unsure if he needed to hold the 09er Princess back or not; it was common knowledge at Neptune High that Logan Echolls belonged to Lily Kane, regardless of whether or not they were actually dating. It seemed the 02er hadn't gotten the memo.

"My parents are going to kill me if I'm late for curfew and Duncan's my ride." Meg's face was white with splotches of red and she tugged frantically on her boyfriend's arm, studiously ignoring the moaning couple on the couch.

"Whose phone is ringing? Oh wait, that's mine…er gotta go, it's the 'rents. Bye Dick!"

"Bye Casey." Dick was caught between a voyeuristic thrill of seeing the bitchy terror getting knocked down a peg by his best friend or leaving with Lily so no blood would be shed. "Lily, we should leave them…to…uh…their…um…conversation."

Lily suddenly turned and clamped a hand onto his arm. He flinched but manfully took the pain as she practically dragged him from the pool house. "Yes, let's leave them to their "conversation," I wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Dude, you can't be mad! You broke up with him and broke his heart. He's just getting a little sumthin sumthin to get over you. He'll dump her the minute you crook your finger, you know that. He never stays with the others whenever you call."

Her laughter was quiet but with a distinct ragged edge. "If you think that's what their kiss was about then you didn't see what I saw. What I've seen since she first got here."

"What did you see?"

"Puzzle pieces fitting together."

"Huh?"

"Don't strain that pretty head of yours, Dick."

"I am pretty, aren't I?"

Lily looked up at him with a half-smirk. "Well, at least I know you're still the same. Never change Richard, never change."

Dick wasn't sure how his fineness was tied up with Logan banging the new chick, but if no body parts went flying, he was okay with it. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Beaver what he missed. One thing was for sure: life with Mars around wasn't boring in the fucking slightest!


	2. The Haunting of Logan Echolls

He closes his eyes the first time they kiss and it makes it okay. The second time, he squints and finds she looks like herself and no one else. The third time he keeps his eyes open and likes what he sees. Her skin is soft and warm against him, sweat slicking their bodies as he moves inside her, reaching for the moment of completion, of little death that takes him from this place into another. It is on this spiritual journey she says she loves him, and his cracked soul sucks up the water of her kindness, but he can't say it back because she still looks like herself, and no one else.

It is early morning, the sun just cresting the water so it sets the world ablaze with promise and hope, when he sees the new her. She is white alabaster colored with crimson and gold, her arms and cunt like a sweet siren of release. He makes no promises, tells her he isn't free, but he knows she doesn't believe him, not really, because she can't sense the ghosts trailing behind him with leering grins. It is in her warm embrace he calls out another, just for a moment, to see if blood would well at the feel of that name freed from the barrier of his lips. The edges are jagged and broken, but fall as softly as tears from a fissured heart.

_There is no one else, _he lies_, just you baby, just you_. She's young and innocent enough to believe, still waiting for the prince to rescue her from a hundred years' sleep. His heart is buckled and bleeding, but he knows (_hopes_) she can save him, she can bring him out of the darkness and the land of dead he's immersed himself in for so long, but she doesn't understand his laughter or his tears and he leaves her fractured upon the bed.

Only when he faces himself in the mirror does he see his cat-souled girl, fingers clawing at his shoulders desperately, drawing his blood in her haste and pleasure. He smiles so sweetly when their eyes connect, and she beckons him into her world, the one he thought he didn't need, and yes, finally, yes, _I love you, and I"m coming home_. Her arms open as easily as her thighs and he drowns in the midst of her love.

S_panning years, and continents. Lives ruined and blood shed. Fucking epic_! is the truthful lie he drunkenly confessed one night, never daring to believe she wouldn't be there in the morning's light. She was always there, always push-pulling her way in and out of his heart and bed, until one day she never came back. Never returned his calls. Haunts his dreams for the chances lost and never found.

_Yes, Veronica, I'm finally coming home._


	3. Author's Note Retread

A/N: I know I've altered this section a lot, but I wanted to thank everyone who's read and commented on the one-shots I posted in "Flashes in the Pan." It is due to your kindness and eagerness to learn more about LoVe, that has inspired me to finish something that started out as a random scene in my head. I've taken chapters entitled "The Friend Zone" and "The Beach House Plan" and moved it under its own story line named "The Friend Zone" so I could conclude that particular story. They really do deserve their happy ending.


	4. Rat Saw God Redux

**A/N: I was watching the S2 episode "Rat Saw God," and this little scene just struck me as odd. I know that Duncan wore the Argyle sweater earlier in the show, but he and Logan are very different body types, so it made me think that maybe Veronica **_**did**_** know it was Logan. So this little one-shot kinda unspooled from there.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>VERONICA VOICEOVER:<strong>__ How do you tell a dying man that the daughter he was looking for is gone? That the millions he sacrificed his own life to give her only led to her death?_ _Answer: you don't. In a family of well-intentioned lies, one more won't hurt._

It been a hard long day filled with death, lies, and looming violence, and all she needed was someone to hold her. She bit her lip when a certain light brown-haired boy flashed through her mind. Shaking her head in annoyance, Veronica pulled up to the Neptune Hotel and quickly parked in the private area marked for their long-term guests, failing to notice a loud yellow Xterra parked nearby.

The front desk staff were well-used to her traversing their lobby and waved her on after a quick cursory glance to make sure she wasn't someone new checking in. The elevator seemed to last forever going up to the Penthouse and she rocked back and forth on her heels as if it would make the ascent faster.

"Finally," she muttered, nearly racing to the end of the hallway. The door opened with silent ease and she smiled faintly when she saw Duncan lounging on the sofa wearing that ugly checkered sweater she kept telling him made him look like a forty-year old washed up golfer, with a paper covering his head as he dozed.

_**VERONICA VOICEOVER: **__At least at the end of the day, I get to curl up with my adorable honest boyfriend._

Yet as she got closer to the sofa, she realized that long body and leanly muscled arms couldn't possibly be Duncan. He was far more compact and his skin didn't have a bronzed golden tinge; it could only be Logan lying there. She hesitated for a split second, but her body moved faster than her mind, and she stretched out on top of him, inhaling the unique mix of woodsy cologne, salt and sand that made it clear exactly who it was. She thrilled for a moment when his arms slid down and curved around her waist, the embrace oddly comforting and stimulating at the same time. She knew her boyfriend was also in the suite but she pretended to not know and nestled closer to her ex, allowing herself this one moment of weakness.

"It's the sweater, isn't it? Chicks can't resist Argyle."

Time to get back onto the right script. She pulled the paper off and glared down at his smirking face and shoved off him. "Let go of me."

"Ever the tease," his whiskey brown eyes twinkled lasciviously up at her before slowly sweeping down her body in a heated wave. She hated how she always responded to his sexual teasing because she knew he knew he got to her. Their eyes clung together for a moment, but Duncan's footsteps echoed and she quickly turned away to face him.

"What is he doing here?"

Her entire right side felt like she'd been shocked by electricity when Logan stood next to her, but she kept her eyes trained on Duncan.

Yet it was her ex who answered.

"Didn't you hear? I'm out a house so I live here now."

Duncan shrugged when she pointedly stared at him. "Sorry I didn't tell you."

Veronica stared at him in disbelief for a moment, wondering if her boyfriend was really _that_ dumb and blind to the potential problems of having Logan living with him.

The sound of the other door closing sounded like a death knell to the wistful half-dreams she'd nurtured on her way over here.


	5. Home

**A/N: This was something that's been nagging at me for a bit, so I finally wrote it down. Don't ask why because I really can't explain it still.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Ten years. Damn, had it really been that long?<em>

Ben Lewis shook his head in consternation as he stared at the envelope in his hand, the return address from a place he'd half-convinced himself he dreamnt up, or more accurately, he _wished_ was just a dream.

"Hey stud, what're you looking at?"

The bright cheery tones of his girlfriend shook him from his reverie and he turned to face Sara, her pretty face beaming up at him, and he discreetly tucked the letter into his back pocket.

"Waiting on you, as usual." He took a critical look at her outfit. "Perfecto mundo so totally worth it."

Sara's smile crinkled a little at the corner as puzzlement flashed across her face and he realized some California speak had slipped in, so he grabbed her into a big hug to deflect her thoughts.

"Ben, are you okay?"

"What, a guy can't hug his girl?"

"Uh, sure, but you're kind of, you know, squashing me."

He let go of her with a sheepish grin, his blue eyes gleaming at her from under a shock of golden hair. Desperation was unattractive in anyone, but right now he felt the hooks of the past trying to dig deep into his skin and drag him back screaming to the sinkhole of his childhood, the place he barely escaped from after a long and bloody process. He needed to hold onto something, anything, to keep himself grounded in the here, the now.

"Ben, what's wrong? You look really weird."

"I'm in my butterfly stage and I don't want to go back to being a catapillar." He knew she didn't understand, but the writing, _so familiar,_ on the envelope panicked him, bringing up all those messy memories and feelings, things he'd successfully buried beneath the foundations of his new life.

No one here in Chicago knew or even cared who he once was; they only cared who he was now. And he kinda like the guy he faced in the mirror every morning, bright-eyed, (maybe not quite well) adjusted, and now with the love of his...he winced away from the cliché phrase because as much as he cared for Sara, best friend turned girlfriend, she really wasn't the love of his life.

_No, _she _was back in _thatplace_ writing to me. _

It was better if he just ignored the stupid letter and instead celebrated his (modest) success with his friends. He'd learned early the value of ignoring and pretending your sorrows away; they didn't actually go away, of course, but eventually they lost the immediacy of their hold and let you breathe.

"What's a guy gotta do to get his drink on, woman? The Macroni and Cheese King needs refreshment."

"Uh huh," Sara murmured, still clearly perplexed by his (for this new persona) uncharacteristic behavior, but gamely ignored it in favor of peace. That was what he enjoyed about her: she let things go and went with the flow. Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, as he knew if they weren't expected somewhere, she'd probably interrogate him, but compared to the chicks he grew up with, she was much easier to handle.

He blanched at the parade of faces in his thoughts and forcefully shut the door on the past, silently lecturing his inner voice to shut the hell up and relax so he could be satisfied with the trappings of this new life; especially since it had taken pain, a fuckton of cash, and one very special brunette to make it happen. Ben scowled at the wayward thought since it definitely didn't fit into his evening's game plan of fun, frivolity, and hopefully fucking – the three Fs every one should follow.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Ben, what's up with you?"<p>

Shaken from his inner dialogue, Ben looked up from the glass he'd been fixated on for the past twenty minutes and refocused on his friends surrounding him at their usual booth at their favorite neighborhood bar; each face looked at him in concern, unused to the quiet pale man sitting in their midst. He was their jokester, their jester, the one guaranteed to never let the mood grow somber; Sara's brow was furrowed in concern as she contemplated the cause of his behavior.

Panicked at being dissected, he blurted the first thought in his mind: "I'm going to take a trip to California. You know, thinking franchise, man, for the Mac and Cheese Truck. Those dudes will eat anything."

Inwardly he winced at the slip in language, but no one seemed to notice, too intent on bemoaning what an idiotic idea it was since he _just_ started his business here and while he had some fledgling success, it was too soon to think about branching out. He gritted his teeth against the unsolicited advice because he knew everything they said made business sense, but it was the only thing he could think of to throw them off the scent. Sara reminded him a lot of someone in his non-Ben Lewis-past, with her incessant need to know everything and track down the root cause of it; probably why she was such a kick ass doctor.

Ben grinned fondly at his girlfriend and patted her hand, waggling his eyebrows when her brown eyes flashed to his. He could read the concern and worry, but he flirted with her until her cheeks grew rosy from his attention and her mouth opened a little in that special way which told him she was getting turned on but didn't want anyone to know. It thrilled him he had someone to know these little signs and he resolved to push all thoughts of the envelope out of his mind for tonight and always.

* * *

><p><em>Always<em> lasted approximately two weeks.

It was a somber winter morning, typical of the Windy City, when Ben awoke tangled in his sheets, frowning when he realized he was alone. Sighing fitfully, he thrust his fingers through his hair, and eased out of bed, ignoring the shock of cold wood beneath his bare feet as he stumbled to the bathroom to do his business. After flushing the toilet and brushing his teeth, he more or less walked to the kitchen and started the process of making breakfast. It probably would've astounded anyone who didn't know _this_ Ben Lewis, how self-sufficient he'd become, learning how to cook, clean, and do the basics things everyone without money or domestics took for granted.

He hummed as he made his omelet, mind racing as he mentally mapped the route he'd take today with the Mac & Cheese Truck, so he could be forgiven if he didn't notice the blinking light on his phone letting him know he had a voice mail for at least an hour. It was only after he was finished cleaning up his mess, that he saw the slim metal resting on the counter top. Sighing, thinking it was Sara leaving him a reminder message for something, he didn't bother checking the phone number; instead he pressed one and half-listened to the familiar voice-mail message before it spooled out the area code of the caller he'd missed. He froze when he heard three digits from the place he'd forgotten.

"Hey Ben, it's me. You need to come home as soon as possible. It's Betty; her water just broke."

Why was she contacting him again after all these years? What was the point of making a pact if she didn't abide by the rules? – first a letter, now a phone call. He supposed he should be surprised she knew where he lived, but then she had more than enough tools at her fingertips to hunt down anyone, much less a murderer on the lam. He winced away from the memory and returned his attention to the problem at hand. She'd said the code word which meant it was safe and then used the phrase that called for help. What the hell was going on?

The dial tone was thick in his ear when he finally disconnected, having played the ten second message over and over again, trying to discern any hidden meanings beyond the superficial. It was _ten years_ since he left the shores of Neptune and traveled across the country into large metropolitan places because it was easier to get lost in the crowd than a small town where everyone knew everyone and strangers were suspicious. He'd initially wanted to do a global trip, but it was too tricky leaving the country with a forged passport, no matter how professionally done it was; Ben hadn't asked how she's gotten her hands on it nor had she volunteered the information. He still needed it for the occasional trip into Canada, but his buddies knew where the most lax Border Patrol guards were stationed and used those crossings to get in and out of both countries without too much hassle.

He pushed away thoughts of similar jaunts to Mexico in his ill-spent youth and redialed his voicemail box so he could delete the reminder of his _other_ identity, someone who didn't exist in this time and space. Closing his phone with a satisfied click, Ben returned to his present with a grunt.

* * *

><p>His satisfaction peaked at the height of his customers lining up to eat his food and being mentioned in a small blurb in the <em>Chicago Sun-Times<em>. Since then, life felt flat and uninteresting as the past kept trying to bleed into the present, and discontent percolated through ever interaction he had; even sex with Sara was dull and pointless because though he was able to get her off (a point of pride for him), he was unable to follow suit, and had resorted to faking his own orgasm (really? What dude did that?) because he couldn't bear the anxious questions she kept asking or the gentle hints about seeing a doctor. He hoped she didn't think he was cheating on her, because he wouldn't do that, but he couldn't explain to her the source of his issues without delving into history she wasn't aware existed.

To her, and the rest of their friends, he was Benjamin Thomas Lewis, born and reared in Tallahassee, Florida who moved to Chicago after high school so he could get away from incessant sunshine and experience real weather. It wasn't far from the truth, which was good since it was something someone he refused to name, had once advised him: a good cover story hinged on the story teller's belief in their own words. It didn't matter if the listener believed so much as the teller did because then it had more credibility. He'd scoffed when he'd first hear that, but in the years hence, he'd realized she spoke the truth; though it shouldn't be surprising given this one's obsession with finding it and exploiting it to her (or those she loved) gain.

* * *

><p>Four months passed in this manner until one day Sara snapped, her fierce brown eyes intent on him, fingers clenched into two small fists. Ben stared at her in resignation because he realized his fork in the road was upon him, and he had to make Robert Frost's decision, and he honestly wasn't sure which road <em>he'd<em> choose.

"Ben, what the hell is wrong with you?"

He turned towards the window and stared out across the city-scape with an unseeing gaze.

"I'm leaving."

The words were as surprising to her as they were to him. He hadn't planned on saying it, but once said, couldn't be taken back and it felt like a huge boulder was lifted from his chest until he could finally breathe again. _This_ life was starting to crush him.

"What? Why? Are you having an affair?"

His shoulders hunched forward as he pressed his forehead against the glass. In a way he was, but not quite as she was thinking. Lately his dreams were filled with a sardonic eccentric brunette with streaked hair who kept pacing across a familiar wind-swept cliff, her face sad and longing as she quietly called his name. His _real_ name. It was actually a memory, the last one he had of her before his actions caused a rift in their future, leaving her on one side and him on the other, the distance unspanned because he had to protect her; he'd hated what he'd done, but he'd do it again. In that moment, Ben finally understood his best friend and his tireless efforts to protect what was most important to him, and silently begged forgiveness for all the harsh words he'd ever uttered.

"No, not that. I'm leaving, going home."

He felt more than heard the sigh leaving her and knew Sara hadn't understood what he meant. How could she when she really didn't know him? She knew Ben Lewis, but he wasn't that guy, hadn't been for awhile now, not since the letter, the phone call; evidence of a skeletal bridge being built so he could go home.

"Oh that's it? Are you going to visit their graves?"

Ben kept his laughter to himself at her hushed tone because she wouldn't get it; the Lewises were dead because there was actually a couple old enough to have a son his age. It was part of the very simple but extremely thorough cover story to change his identity.

"Yeah, I am and I'm not coming back Sara. This place just ain't me any more."

"But...I thought we had plans...we're in love..."

It physically hurt to hear the pain in her voice, especially since she'd been the most genuine person he'd ever met; their friendship had started when she struck up conversation at the mailbox they shared in an old apartment complex eight years ago, slowly progressing from acquaintances to good friends, and eventually to lovers. Ben Lewis was able to move on, start something new, and lead that life contentedly, but now it was over despite the real pang of pain and love striking him.

"I love you, but I need to go."

* * *

><p>He stepped outside the terminal, all his worldly possessions packed into one suitcase. As soon as he'd made the decision to leave Chicago, he's sold or given away everything tied to the old identity. None of his friends understood him or his desire to leave, but he made a break (not clean, not neat, and horribly horribly hurtful) so he could come back to California unencumbered.<p>

"Hi Dick."

Her voice was sweet and low, as husky as he remembered, and he turned with a pleased smile, not even bothering to ask how she'd known he was coming when he never called or wrote her back.

"Hey Mac. How's life?'

Dick Casablancas put on the gold aviator sunglasses she silently held out to him, relishing the sun baking into his skin, and the smell of smog and beach and salt in his nose. He shuddered slightly, sloughing off all remnants of the past ten years and drew a deep breath, then held out both hands with a wink.

"Book 'em Dano."

Special Agent Cynthia Mackenzie took out her heavy steel cuffs and snapped them around his wrists before quietly speaking into the mic attached to her collar, telling the unseen voice she'd gotten the package. He briefly wondered if Veronica was on the other end, but then shrugged the thought away as unimportant; this wasn't their call, bringing him in the for the murder, but he'd known they would try to be there, to ease his way through the justice system, just as they had helped facilitate his escape years prior. He'd known what he would face once he crossed state lines, but it just seemed fitting to end it where it all started. It was good to be home.

"It's good to be home."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know technically this isn't a LoVe story - though there is a small blink and you'll miss it mention of them - but I didn't feel it should be its own story either, so that's why it got dumped here. I have no idea who Dick murdered or why, other than he had a deep abiding love for Mac and did it for her protection. I've never written a MaDi story before and really doubt I'll start, but this is the closest I'll probably come. One thing though I do have to point out : Ryan Hansen, the actor who played Dick, was on a new show called "Friends with Benefits" and I watched one episode - Ben Lewis seemed like an adult version of Dick, so I think that's where the first part came from (some of the dialogue is directly imported from there). The rest of it was all me.  
><strong>


	6. Just Because

**A/N: A future fic moment.**

* * *

><p>Logan sighed as he looked at Veronica's tiny body passed out next to Mac's slightly larger one on the narrow bed. Neither girl could hold their liquor well and he shuddered to think what the next few hours would bring. He'd been down this road before with his ex and knew it would start with the hiccups, which then lead to dry heaves, before vomit would finally spew. He could never figure out the physics of Veronica's body - she ate enough for the entire first string of a football team but weighed less than his surfboard. The only time he ever saw the downside of her appetite was when she drank, so pretty much next to never. He didn't bother asking what led to this drinking binge as he knew he wouldn't get a straight answer out of her loyal best friend.<p>

He looked sideways at Wallace, grinning at the grimace on his face. Logan knew the other boy didn't like him and was glad he wasn't with Veronica any more, but yet he was still one of the few people Wallace felt comfortable enough calling when something went wrong. The Neptune High alums made a strange quintet - Dick with his surfer boy looks and intelligence, Mac with her shark-like business sense and aptitude, Weevil's devilish humor which masked his soft center, Wallace's fierce loyalty and willingness to go the extra mile, and Logan's jackass attitude and inflexible sense of honor. They were all satellites revolving around the dark mysterious face of Veronica Mars.

But there was one person conspicuous in his absence.

"Why isn't Piss hauling his lady love home?"

Logan didn't really care, but felt he should at least ask. The floppy-haired DJ and Veronica were going on two years of dating, so it wasn't an unusual question. The angry wound of her absence at his side had dulled to an ache, something similar to the phantom pain that flared for an amputee whenever it rained. And since it rarely rained in sunny SoCal, Logan refused to be bothered by the sight of Piz wrapped around Veronica in a way he'd never seen her allow any boyfriend save him. Besides, he was content with his life and taught himself to not need or want anything more.

Wallace shrugged, made a strange face, and muttered something too low for Logan to catch.

"You want to say that again so anyone without supersonic powers can hear you?"

"_Piz_" - extra emphasis on his name - "is...uh...not here."

"I figured that out since your dorm room is the size of a postage stamp without the same nostalgic charm." Logan made a show of looking around, ignoring Piz's bed where the infamous sex tape was made, and then returned his gaze to the uncomfortable looking Wallace.

"You need to talk to V about it. Not my place."

Any retort he would've made to that curious response was forestalled by Veronica's moan, followed by an ominous hiccup.

Wallace leaned down and grabbed Mac, rolling her away to safety, then glared up at Logan.

"Get your rich white boy ass moving. Take her away."

Logan wasn't usually prone to taking orders from anyone, but since it involved Veronica in his arms, despite the very real and imminent threat of vomit, he eagerly picked her slight body up. He was amused at how the unmistakable smell of Jack Daniels, usually his drink of choice and not hers, didn't fully cover the soft floral and cinnamon spiced perfume she wore. Once, in an effort to replace memories of her with another, he'd sprayed her scent on a girl he was casually dating and was surprised by how disgusting it smelled on the new girl.

Carting her to his car turned out easier than he expected because the hiccups were sporadic and she never regained consciousness. He debated about taking her to her apartment, but decided against it because he had no desire to spar with her father, so he turned his Range Rover to the new address he'd recently acquired.

The small house (to him) was tucked up on a bluff overlooking the ocean, like the monstrosity he grew up in, but all similarities ended there. It wasn't in the coveted 09er zip, but the small section of Neptune that straddled the wealthy and the welfare dependent neighborhoods. Houses there rarely went to market as they were the hidden treasure in the dung heap that was this town; everyone in this small area had owned their homes for generations because they were passed down through familial lines. Logan had gotten lucky with this one because the owner, a widower without children, had no one to will his house to so the bank acquired it and promptly put up it for sale.

History, surprising to those who didn't know him well, was one of Logan favorite subjects, and he'd once written a paper on the lighthouse that stood where he now lived. It was the beacon in the night that lead ships safely to Neptune Port. The docks and lighthouse were long gone, but the name stuck and so he lived on Beacon Bluff. He'd found it quite by accident, as he had gone for a drive one afternoon and somehow found his way up the long winding road; Logan had seen the signs for an open house and was bored enough to check it out.

By the time he did a walk through of the house, his faint interest had deepened into fascination. He couldn't have explained it if anyone asked, but he'd known he had to own it; fortunately money was no object for him, and an hour after his arrival, the real estate agent was in a happy if stunned state as she clutched a check for the full asking price. Logan hadn't bothered quibbling, just whipped out his checkbook, and put his father's blood money to good use. At twenty-one, he'd finally retained full control of his parents' estate and found it in a healthier state than previously expected, given the abuse his trust fund had taken. It appeared Aaron was more faithful to money than he ever was to his wife, because he'd managed his wealth with an aplomb that still shocked his son whenever he stopped to think about it. His father had never really squandered the paychecks he'd made, though his family had lived in the manner befitting an A-list movie star, and left Logan flush enough to never need work a day in his life.

None of this was on Logan's mind as he carried his many-times ex over the threshold and up the _Gone with the Wind _style sweeping staircase towards his bedroom. He had six rooms to put her in, but only his was actually furnished because the previous owner apparently didn't entertain guests often. There was little Logan wanted to change about the house, other than to update certain features in the kitchen and living room; he'd already installed a very sophisticated alarm system designed to repel any and all intruders. He thought he might eventually decorate the unused rooms, but hadn't gotten around to it yet.

A sense of rightness came to Logan as he gently placed Veronica in the center of his California King mattress; while not completely celibate, he'd never brought a date back here, so the tiny blond was the first woman to grace his new home and bed. He hadn't shown his purchase to any of his friends, not even Dick; despite everything, he'd wanted Veronica to demand to see it as she'd been urging him for years to leave the Neptune Grand, but she'd kept to their agreement of non-involvement in each others' lives for the sake of group harmony, and never said a word or even just randomly turned up on his doorstep. If he missed the bantering and arguing, of Veronica insisting on him being better than he was, he would never show it.

Logan stopped being her doormat around the same time she'd tried to kick him out of her life for good after his very public beat down of her current boyfriend - it was only in the past eight months they'd managed to cobble a semblance of true friendship, which was as surprising to them as to anyone who knew their complicated back-story. He joked it was because they'd fallen out of lust and into like - though there were still times when he took himself in hand and only her memory could bring him to completion.

In his quieter moments of self-reflection, usually when he was paddling out to catch a wave, he realized he'd never really been friends with Veronica at any point in their lives. They'd been forced into a quasi-relationship when both dated the Kanes, which resulted into a superficial connection that might've evolved into something more concrete had outside forces and tragic consequences not interfered. Their failure as a couple was due to the lack of a solid foundation: too much wrong had passed for trust and commonality to develop, even as it bound them together. Veronica's penchant for danger and Logan's unresolved emotional issues kept them on a destructive loop they could only escape if they admitted the harm they did to each other and themselves, but it was easier to bury the truth than confront it; something that was both puzzling and ironic about them since both used truth as a weapon against others.

These thoughts were background noise at the periphery of his mind as his prediction of Veronica's reaction to alcohol became all too true, resulting in a shower for the both of them (him heroically ignoring her nudity) and replacing the sheets on the bed. After dressing her in an old shirt and boxers, Logan threw everything in the washer and returned to his room, intent on getting a little shut eye before the inevitable Marsuvius explosion. The mattress was large enough for five people of reasonable size to sleep side by side and have room to spare, so he thought nothing of tucking a light blanket around Veronica to ward off any chill and settling on the other side.

At some point after he fell into sleep, they drew together with the magnetic certainty of comfortable lovers, and Veronica curled into his larger body as his legs entwined between hers, so she lay half on and half under him. Neither was consciously aware of their proximity, but the subconscious ruling them in this moment was fully cognizant of their positions, lending a sense of familiar intimacy and security both secretly missed in their wakeful lives.

So Logan could be forgiven for forgetting the terribly lonely years without his beloved, and sleepily responding to her kittenish stretching and kneading of his muscles. Veronica, in turn, was caught between the haziness of reality and the luring warmth of dreams, so she allowed herself to sink into the seemingly real touch of the boy she loved and lost time and again, drowning out the usually impeccable voice of warning softly blaring the alarm that something wasn't right.

Each touch was welcomed and reciprocated, magnifying the pleasure until both writhed in the grip of intoxication, straining to eliminate the separation of their flesh. When they were united in the earthiest of ways, the inexorable rush of their union's climax arose and washed over them, leaving them replete with satisfaction they hadn't managed to replicate with anyone else. Neither chose to swim to full consciousness, so as to protect this irreplaceable and fleeting moment of connection, leaving only tender silence in the hushed dawn of the new day.

It was inevitable pain was involved in any situation involving Veronica, or so Logan concluded as he held the t-shirt to his face in a poor attempt to staunch the bleeding of his broken nose. He'd been rudely awakened by a punch to the face as his tiny ex disproved any lingering thoughts she was going soft in her advancing age with a southpaw hit worthy of the featherweight title. Any grudge he ordinarily would've held against such an action was canceled out by the horror of realization they'd had sleep sex. Since they started dating in the terrible year after Veronica's rape, Logan had made every effort of keeping sex strictly sober, more so on his part than hers, so he felt the crippling weight of his failure compounded with a punch induced migraine.

It might've soothed his conscience some had he any insight into Veronica's mind, which wasn't so much screaming RAPE but STUPID HEIFER as she understood her culpability in their lovemaking. How she ended up naked and thoroughly debauched in Logan's bed was less important to her in that moment than the scrambling through shredded mental walls she'd erected in an effort to keep him safely contained. But, as his wont in life, he refused to stay in the box marked "Past Mistakes," and had frolicked merrily through her dreams and daydreams, despite her very real attempt at normalcy with Piz.

Perhaps if she'd been more of a regular girl and less a teenage crime fighting PI with a superhero complex, she would've understood what Piz had seen from the first and ignored until he couldn't any longer - she was meant for messy and complicated, and had a large "Property of Logan Echolls" mark stamped on her forehead for everyone but her to see. She'd known from the instant she'd opened her blearily eyes and felt the pleasant tingle of athletic sex, there was only one man who ever made her feel that way and it wasn't Stosh Piznarski from Beaverton, Oregon. So Veronica did what the Veronica Marses of this world do best - lash out and land a bone breaking hit on her sleeping ex-lover-cum-recent-lover for reminding her just how much she missed him.

Logan stared at Veronica's somewhat remorseful face, seeing the rush of cathartic glee in her changeable blue eyes instead of fear or anger, which allowed him to speak the only truth he'd ever known regardless of time, distance, and separation: "I love you." Then because he was Logan Echolls, white queen to her black king, he added. "I do have to protest your methods of getting my attention though. Siccing Wallace on me after you drank too much, followed by vomiting all over me, and the coup de grace of seducing me unsuspectingly while I sleep are the hallmarks of a desperate woman, so you're lucky I respond to that kind of coercion.

Veronica leaned over, ignoring his mask of blood and cotton, dropping a light kiss on his uninjured cheek. The stress of the past week - finally admitting she was in a failing relationship, fighting with her father over letting her take cases again, and trying to study for midterms - melted away as she reveled in her current position. There was definitely pain, trauma, angst, love, incredible sex, and fun in her future - apparently horoscopes occasionally got it right. There was no denying the events of the last two year, but hopefully, they had grown and matured enough into their identities to give this the old college try with a possible outcome of success. Who knew, maybe this time they'd get it right. Hope, something she'd almost forgotten, was a small nebulous stirring in her heart as she breathed in the scents of home and flesh encapsulated in the form of one Logan Echolls.

"Let's go get ice for your nose and you can give me a tour of your new house."


End file.
